


Agnus Dei

by persephone_il (the_ragnarok), the_ragnarok



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-03-05
Updated: 2004-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:38:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/persephone_il, https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schuldig and Farfarello prowl the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agnus Dei

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to [](http://alyssia-silver.livejournal.com/profile)[**alyssia_silver**](http://alyssia-silver.livejournal.com/) for betaing. Thanks!

You could say that Farfarello was alone as he walked through the alleyways. You could also say I was with him, and be about as correct. You could also say God was with him, but then Farfarello would flay you alive, and you wouldn't be able to say much more.

In short, I was there in spirit - in Farfarello's mind, to be accurate. It was nice and cozy inside, thank you for asking. I don't mind the bloody mutilations much anymore, and the repetitive quality of his thoughts is relaxing like you wouldn't believe. Like being rubbed all over.

Farfarello doesn't understand my strange liking for things like ordinary human touch, but he obliges me. He also doesn't mind me sharing his brain, which is unusual, let me tell you. Most people have this funny thing called 'privacy', but Farfarello never thinks anything he wouldn't say out loud, so it's not much of an issue.

And because Farfarello's mind is a nice place to stay, and even nicer when he's all happy and excited, we went out to party a little.

Not my definition of 'party', because Farfarello's thinking is twisted enough without chemical assistance (can't say my thinking doesn't have the same problem, but, I can actually _control_ myself every now and then) and he doesn't get the idea of dancing. But nevertheless, I promised Farfarello a little gift tonight, and this is gonna be it.

Before I explain about the gift, I should explain about us and the current thorn in our ass, also known as Weiss Kreuz. See, those guys are, well, pathetic. If I wanted to, I could kill them all in their beds without even trying or needing any help from the rest of Schwarz. They're weak and pitiful and would have been put out of our misery long ago if it weren't for the fact that they are so much _fun_.

I mean, look at them. They're all so determined to do _good_ , and in the process, they steal, maim and generally break the law every other night, and oh yeah - they _kill_ for a living. Sure, they kill evil, evil men, but did these guys actually ever stop to check their data? Did they ever try to find out if the guys they're out to kill are actually, you know, _guilty_? But one of them still wouldn't hurt a girl, first because she was a girl and then because she looked like his dead girlfriend. And then he went home and cried about it. Can you believe these people?

And they have the audacity to call Schwarz the bad guys. If I didn't like this title so much, they would have suffered.

Oh, wait. They already do.

I digress. Anyway, so tonight it was Farfarello's birthday, and because neither of the jerks we're with cared, I took it upon myself to make sure he had a nice time. Never having to ask anyone what they want for their birthday is one of the little used perks of telepathy. And what Farfarello wanted was lovely and cruel and _just_ the kind of thing we could do to improve team together-ness.

Farfarello likes messing with bodies. I like messing with minds. Isn't it fun when everyone wins?

So Farfarello waited in an alleyway while I, mentally speaking, went around the city looking for _just_ the right mind. And there he was, still awake at 3 a.m., the naughty boy. What would his teachers have had to say?

And not even looking at porn. For shame.

So I planted a little suggestion in his mind. Nothing obvious, since he's about the only one of those boys who actually has a functioning brain and _knows_ what telepathy implies. Just a sudden urge to go on a midnight stroll to get a little fresh air. So he got dressed (of course I didn't watch - how could I? It's not like he had a mirror in his room) and walked out, conscientiously locking the door behind him.

Since that boy likes keeping his mind busy, he didn't even notice that I took control of his legs and led him to a very specific location. I gave Farfarello a warning and felt him grin as he tensed in anticipation. We work so well together.

I gave the boy a second or two to walk into the alley before ordering Farfarello to launch. This ensured that, when Farfarello pinned the boy to the wall, they were well out of the reach of streetlights and prying eyes.

I felt the boy's frantic breath on Farfarello's hand, saw Farfarello's maddened glittering eye in the boy's mind.

"Screaming's no use," I said, through Farfarello's throat. "Even if someone hears you, they won't want to be involved." Farfarello took his hand off.

The boy said, "I wasn't going to scream," and Farfarello looked down to see a sharp throw-dart threatening to cut into his stomach.

Farfarello's response to this was to grin and tighten his hand around the boy's throat, hard enough to block all air passage. "Want to bet you'll lose consciousness first?"

Play nice, I told Farfarello. I used his voice to tell the boy, "Come on. This can be fun for everyone if you just play along."

The boy didn't have enough breath in him to answer, but his mind screamed defiance. As if I expected anything else. He looked like he was about to faint, so I told Farfarello we'd better get going with the plan. Reluctantly, Farfarello agreed.

The boy's face was a thing of beauty as I flooded his mind with deep, pure love. It was a deftly done job, though I do say it myself; no fooling around with his perception, no messy use of associations. Just love, holy and bright and eager, and so very young.

This, you understand, was an experiment. Farfarello and I are men of inquisitive minds, especially when the data we gather could be used to torture people in ever more efficient ways.

Bombay's pupils widened, and he gasped. Uncontrollable tears of joy flooded his eyes. "What did you do?" he asked, and I was impressed. Even with all my best efforts, he still controlled his mind enough to put the facts together.

"Nothing you won't enjoy.” I'm not sure which of us the one who spoke was.

Bombay fell to his knees, shaking, and looked up at us with helpless devotion. "Please," he said. "I-- please..."

"Please what?" we asked. We cupped the back of his head with our hand and crouched on our knees beside him. "Don't beg for mercy. There is no mercy."

And even we rose and pressed his head into our crotch, he managed to say, "There should be."

His hands clutched at us, spasming, and he made strange sounds, whimpers of sorrow and ecstasy. He was such a good, good boy, and we told him so, and he gasped in a combination of denial and sweet begging.

We wondered, for a moment, if the others he loved, the men he worked and killed with, were lucky enough to experience this. We asked him, and treasured the way he flinched. No, his mind told us, he never touched them, though he loved them all more than he could speak.

"More than you love us right now?" we asked. He didn't answer, but his mind said no.

We carded our fingers through his hair, and he angled his head for a better connection. It wasn't a surprise he gave in to us so easily. He was so starved for affection, for recognition. His team mates were stupid not to take what was virtually theirs.

His mouth was the deep, deep red of innocent blood.

We pulled him up and pulled at him so that he was leaning against the wall, facing us. His eyes were huge and terrified, but he wasn't a danger to us now. Not because of love - he'd killed the ones he loved before, that brother of his, even though the shame of that still ate at him. But we made sure he forgot about the darts, forgot all the martial arts he was ever taught, made sure he spread his legs for us and opened his mouth for ours.

He tasted lovely, bloody from the lip he'd bitten a moment ago and bitter with fear and sweet with our own taste, and we reached down and grabbed him where it mattered. He rose into our hand, crying out, and we felt him go crazy as we bowed our head and bit right through the tender skin of his throat.

We could have killed him right there, could have torn out his jugular - and that was wonderful, wasn't that, his fragile little life in our hands, in our mouth - but we would have to leave him safe and intact, whole for another day of toying and poking.

We plunged into his mind as he came and went right along with him, floating on his stunned pleasure, on the pain that came from the harshness of our grip. He shuddered and fell back against the wall, breathing hard, eyes closed and mind vague.

We sorted ourselves apart, and I was me again. I shook myself off mentally and blinked Farfarello's eye for him. I felt him thank me, but didn't answer. The rush of power from knowing that I was the only way Farfarello could feel pleasure at anywhere near this scale was all the reward I needed. The corruption of an innocent mind was a bonus.

Speaking of which, this was the part I was looking forward to. I killed the constant stream of love I had flowing in Bombay's mind and gleefully waited for the aftershock.

I didn't, of course, allow his to remember that he had an arsenal of weapons on him. I might flirt with death, but I won't put out for him.

And so he blinked, once, twice. I wanted to go into his brain like you wouldn't believe, but I knew it would be so much more fun to read the horror, the shame on his face.

I saw it then for a moment - a shard of rage so powerful it was a wonder Farfarello's eyebrows weren't singed off. Bombay had had a life that taught hatred well, even if wasn't a very quick study in that particular area. I admit I was expecting his explosion for the entire duration of this evening. Just the thought of his desperation, his self-hatred had me half-hard.

But then the anger drained off, just like that. I stared through Farfarello's eye, and neither of us blinked. What the _hell_?

Because it wasn't just that Bombay wasn't trying to kill us or himself. No, he was actually _smiling_.

He touched Farfarello's face, gently. Farfarello flinched; he's not accustomed to affection, and he was still a bit confused. To be honest, so was I. I mean, how could he have gone through this and not be angry? Maybe he was repressing, I hoped, there's a lot of fun things you can do with repression.

But the strange, soft smile remained, and he said, "Was this what you were looking for?"

And he showed me.

No, you bastard, I wanted to scream at him, not that. Good grief. But he still showed it to me; the image of everyone he'd ever loved, sweet and only slightly sad in his memory. Even when they'd hurt him, even when he hated them, the memory of love was still so warm, so filled with kindness.

I couldn't understand him at all. What kind of person goes through everything little Bombay had and then just goes and forgives? I didn't get it, and thank goodness - or, rather, badness - for that.

I drew back, and there was nothing around me but the silent darkness of my room until the 'click' of a key in the lock signified Farfarello's return. I stayed in place as the door to my room swayed gently open and Farfarello came to sit on the floor by my bed.

We were silent for a while. Eventually, Farfarello said, "This did not go as expected."

I snorted. "Understatement of the century."

I heard him shift. "I don't understand."

"Join the club." But my curiosity was stronger than my sense of self preservation, and I couldn't help sneaking a peek into Bombay's mind. I erased the memory of tonight's encounter as I went - I still wanted to be alive in the morning, thank you - but I had plenty of time to look things over. But never mind how I examined it; I couldn't get the whole thing to make sense.

Like I said before, a life like Bombay's teaches hate well. I've seen him hate before. How the hell did he manage to keep from hating us?

And Farfarello said, "Has it ever occurred to you to wonder why those of Weiss survive?"

"Sheer dumb luck?"

He gaze me an even look until I rolled my eyes and said, "All right, go on."

"God watches over those whose heart is pure." And then, darkly, "At least, he should."

"He'd better. In my experience, pure people are crap at watching over themselves."

There was silence, but not a hostile kind. This was the kind of silence we had when Farfarello was waiting for me to figure something out on my own. I swear, sometimes he thinks he's some kind of guru or I don't know what. But after a while, it clicked. "So you're saying that because Bombay's supposedly pure, he's safe from us?"

Farfarello was silent in a way that indicated I was on the right course.

"Okay, just how stupid is that? Being good doesn't make you bullet-proof, and I can tell you that from almost-personal experience."

"Bullets tear at your body, but bodies heal." Also, he didn't need to tell me, learned from personal experience. "Souls, alas, do not."

"Fuck that. There's no such thing as souls."

"Have you been tormenting nothing, then?" The bastard - literally - wouldn't even let me answer, just got to his feet and left the room. Probably went off to contemplate the mysteries of whatever the hell.

"Fuck you, too," I called after him. He didn't answer, and I had to put myself to sleep by grinding imaginary cigarettes into an imaginary Farfarello. And into an imaginary Bombay. And into an imaginary me - I'd caught masochism from one of our victims last week, and couldn't seem to shake it off.

For all that I played stupid, I knew what Farfarello meant. I also knew that he was wrong. Innocence is a shield, yes, but you might as well wear glass sheets for protection. It might be strong, but it's fragile, and when it breaks you don't want to be there. Whatever it was Bombay had, it withstood a pretty serious attack, and it hit right back. Yeah, mixed metaphors. Whatever.

Not glass, then, even if it was transparent and shiny. Diamond, maybe. And a weapon, not a shield. He was close to shattering - I saw it, and I should know - but he _knew_ what we were trying to do to him, and he turned it right back at us, the little fucker. We should go back and kick the living shit out of him, me and Farfarello and maybe one of the other pricks.

Not yet, though. Not until I figure a way to breach his defenses.

Soon.

End


End file.
